A Day in January
by Osidiano
Summary: A drabble response to a January 1st challenge; prompt was "our breaths in winter." This exists because I wanted some mundane Logicshipping fluff, and I don't believe that Seto knows how to take a day off from work.


**Disclaimer/Notes:** I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!, or any of the characters mentioned here. They belong to Kazuki Takahashi, and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original ideas are original (duh) and belong to me, unless otherwise mentioned. This story is **unbeta'd**, but otherwise needs no warnings. Enjoy.

**A Day in January**

"It's your turn."

"What? Are we playing a game now?"

He smirked, the corners of his lips twitching up in a way that suggested he did not actually know how to smile, and made everything else seem so out of place; him laying on his stomach, leaning forward on propped up elbows with his chin resting on laced fingers. It was almost endearing how he did things like that: how he failed at smiling, the way he managed to turn everything into some sort of game, how he watched her like he could see through the guise of cultured obedience and careful discipline that she hid behind. It was almost as if he could read her every thought, knew her darkest and most guarded secrets, and was simply fascinated by it all.

_Endearing_, she thought, regarding him with an intimate fondness inappropriate for their situation. Perhaps _endearing_ was not the right word, had not the connotations she was searching for. But whether endearing or enigmatic, charming or curious, he excited her; whatever he was, he aroused feelings that she had not even known she was capable of experiencing. His touch alone sent her reeling from her comfort zone and into his, drowning in a sea of confusing emotions. What she felt near him was suffocating, muddling logic and speech until both failed her completely.

". . .All right," she said when she finally found her voice again. Quickly, she looked away from him, fighting the smile that threatened to find its way through her defenses. She cast her gaze to the scenery, hoping for a diversion while she sought to regain control of her expression.

They had spread a thick blanket out over the grass—still wet with the morning dew—and it was upon this that they were seated. A nearly empty thermos of coffee lay between them, its cap twisted on tightly to protect them from a spill, and both of their mugs lying beside it. The crisp morning air stirred lazily in the soft breeze, pulling a few loose strands of her hair forward into her face. She brushed them aside out of habit.

"If you had to work for someone else for the rest of your life," she began slowly, the tip of her tongue flicking out to wet her lips as she paused. "Who would you want it to be?"

"Mokuba," he answered without hesitation. "He'll actually end up owning Kaiba Corp. long before I die. I plan on giving it to him."

"Really?"

"Mmn. He's intelligent, capable, and he's the only man in the world I'd trust with it," Seto was quiet for a moment as he brought his coffee mug to his lips and took a long drink. "With Mokuba as the next CEO, I'll return to the head of our research and development department."

"Doesn't your board of directors have to approve your successor?"

"After the fiasco with the Big 5?" the younger man gave her a dubious look and carefully set his coffee back down in the grass at the edge of the blanket. "I don't think so. My company was never meant to be a democracy."

"So, instead, it's a totalitarian dictatorship?"

"_Absolutely_," he lowered his voice when he said it, rough but still somehow smooth enough to send a shiver down her spine. She loved it when he talked like that, serious and almost ruthless; it reminded her of Egypt, in a way. It made her think of gold and ancient priests, of white robes and sins in the name of the pharaoh. His lips parted ever so slightly into that pseudo-smile of his, and she laughed.

"Your turn, _Set_."

"If you could. . ." he stopped to choose his question thoughtfully, blue-eyed gaze drifting to their surroundings for inspiration. "Live anywhere in the world, where would you want to live?"

"What can I take with me?"

"Anything. Everything." He seemed to catch her meaning after a moment, and amended his previous statement by adding: "Anyone."

"In that case, I'd want to live somewhere with dramatic seasonal changes. It would have to have a long, hot summer to remind me of home and keep us from missing Egypt. It would need to be somewhere with thousands of deciduous trees so that we could see the leaves turn red and gold in the fall, and it would have to snow every winter. I'd want a bright spring to make my life bloom and remind me how lucky I was to be alive and with my brothers."

". . .That's a fairly impressive description, _Ishizu_."

"Well, when you're from the desert, _Set_, you tend to realize that seasonal changes are the most beautiful things in the world."

"They are?"

"Don't you think so?"

He opened his mouth to reply, and she knew that he was going to tell her that she was beautiful, too, from the way his hand touched her cheek in a gentle caress. Seto leaned forward to murmur it against her lips, and she felt his breath on her skin; hot in contrast to the chill morning air and smelling faintly of his favored brand of coffee. But before the words could escape him, before her trembling lips met with his, she heard the sliding glass door from the mansion open, followed soon after by a familiar voice:

"Kaiba-san, your brother's on the line," Isono interrupted, holding up a dark cell phone. "Business call. He says it's important."

Seto sighed, and cursed beneath his breath. He ran his thumb over her lower lip, and whispered, "Hold that thought."

"I can wait for you. Go," she laughed again and pushed him away playfully.

His fingertips lingered on her skin a moment longer and then he stood, his long, purposeful strides carrying him over to his assistant quickly. Isis picked up her coffee mug and watched him with a drowsy intimacy she tried to keep hidden from him, sipping her cup's contents with quiet satisfaction. One of these days she would convince him to take an _actual_ day off from work, but until then she would deal with the frequent interruptions that came with bringing the office home.


End file.
